


Asterism.

by mandalorianss



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Agents, Asterism, CM - Freeform, Crime, Doctors, Dr Reid - Freeform, F/M, FBI, Fanfiction, Fiction, Murder, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Psychology, Romance, Serial Killer, Spencer - Freeform, TV Show, bau, criminal minds - Freeform, matthew gray gubler - Freeform, mgg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:14:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25859548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandalorianss/pseuds/mandalorianss
Summary: Lucille Florence had always struggled with an excessive amount of empathy. Ever since childhood, the emotional torment of other people has weighed heavily on her being. At the ripe age of six, Lucy realised something was wrong with her. She would be angry, but she wasn't angry ‒ and this is how she was diagnosed with having an abundance of empathy for others, as well as animals and the environment around her. At first, Lucy thought that this was magnificent; she could feel what others were feeling, tell when they were being untruthful, and predict the outcome of scenarios, before and after they had happened (sometimes). However, she soon learned that not all that glitters is gold.Having so much empathy in that small, frail body of hers, made her a target for organisations such as the FBI, who leapt at the idea of having a blank canvas for human emotion under their belt. She could feel anyone and everyone, and this made her a great asset. But early on Lucy learnt that this 'ability' came at a cost ‒ the extreme exhaustion, agonising migraines, unpleasant insomnia and the constant uncertainty of her own feelings ,were amongst the list of cons that came with being an exceptional empath.
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Original Character(s), Spencer Reid/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	1. Beginning of the end

_THREE YEARS AGO, FBI ACADEMY._

Miniscule beads of sweat rolled down the sides of Lucille's face. She was never the greatest at standing on a stage in front of everyone ‒ then again, who was? Anxiety gnawed away in the centre of her chest, increasing tenfold with every person who joined her on the raised platform at the FBI Academy. It wasn't that she was that nervous; it was the fact that a majority of the people around her were ‒ Lucy knew that it was them making her want to vomit right there in front of all the celebrated FBI agents that were in the vicinity. She mentally cursed her own mind and the soon-to-be agents around her, knowing they were the cause of her nauseousness.

A synchronised roar of clapping snatched the 20-year old prodigy from her thoughts, as she awkwardly smiled at the agents before her, some eyeing her up and down as their left hand collided with the right, and vice versa. Lucille Florence joined the rest of her graduating class in thanking their teachers and, well, anyone in sight really. It seemed appropriate, despite the fact Lucy knew she was only here for one reason and one reason only; her ability to empathise. She shook her head, trying to physically discard the sombre thoughts in her mind. She had just graduated the FBI Academy, and was officially an agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation ‒ how many other twenty-year old's could say that?

Lucy was then in front of her favourite person in the universe ‒ Special Agent Michael Harrison. Not only had he privately helped the young girl with her extreme education, but he'd also been her shoulder to cry on. It was no secret to her peers that she was, well, special in the eyes of the FBI, and for whatever reason; be it jealousy, anger, worry, whatever, she was not accepted by them. Not that she really wanted to be, though. Being around that many pretentious, egotistical people was not something high on Lucille's list of necessities ‒ she could just about deal with them from a distance. Michael grinned at the girl he'd come to love as his daughter as she stood before him, a bashful smile on her face. "Welcome to the FBI, kiddo." he stated proudly, as the two shook hands in a professional yet joking manner.


	2. The all-seeing abyss.

TODAY,   
FBI FIELD OFFICE, QUANTICO.

"Agent Hotchner," came the voice of SES Erin Strauss, her tightly-tied blonde hair appearing at the door of Hotch's office, "I need to speak with you."

Hotch mentally prepared himself for whatever scolding was coming his way; his face remaining stony and stoic as he awaited the words of his superior. He glanced at the average-sized file that she flaunted in her aged hand, as she placed it on his oak desk, in front of him. His hands found the light-brown file, as he peered down at the familiar logo of the FBI, and then the typed name above it: 'FLORENCE, LUCILLE'. Hotch was confused, despite his face still not showing any form of feeling or emotion ― why had Strauss given him a woman's file?

As if knowing his thoughts, Erin voiced her reasoning. "I think she would be a valuable asset to your team ― she's young, and her background would most certainly bring something new to the BAU." she finished with finality, yet waiting for his disapproval ― not that it mattered what he thought, she'd already invited the young girl to the office; it was just a matter of minutes before she arrived.

"We've already filled the spot on the team, Erin. Prentiss has replaced Elle. What do you mean by bring in something new to the team? We already have Reid―"

"Agent Lucille Florence. The youngest female agent to ever graduate the FBI Academy ― she also has experience in the field. I am aware Prentiss filled Greenaway's spot, but I have decided to open up a new spot. Agent Florence will be here in five minutes―I would like you to ask her to spend the day with you and your team so you can make a solid decision."

SES Strauss exited his office, leaving no room for arguing. Hotch sighed, before sitting at his desk and opening the file before him. He knew the team would not take well to another new member. Then again, they only had to deal with it for today. Hotch also knew that Strauss, despite making out he had a choice in the matter, would not stop until she got what she wanted. And what she wanted was for Agent Lucille Florence to be an official member of the BAU. 

Lucy did not really understand why she was here―here being the Behavioural Analysis Unit of the FBI, stationed at Quantico. She remembered receiving the ambiguous email from an SES Erin Strauss, who, after research (and by research she meant a lengthy call to Agent Michael Harrison), she deemed to be an honest and decent woman. The email simply said that SES Strauss wanted to meet with her, and to be on the fifth floor at precisely eight am―and to knock at SSA Hotchner's office, which she'd find by entering the glass doors and keeping to the left, up a series of steps and at the second door. Despite all this detail, Lucille truly had no idea why she was here. She could tell from the email that it was professional, yet a tinge of excitement and even a hint of worry lay in it's short content. Funnily, all of which Lucy felt right at this very moment, as the elevator halted.

Lucille stepped out hastily, her heart rate so high it gave Kilimanjaro a run for it's money. Section Chief's never just wanted to meet someone. And they especially never wanted to meet Agent Florence. With glass doors in sight, Lucy smoothed down her corduroy trousers and dark-plaid blazer, clutched onto her satchel and opened the gateway to the unknown. The sight of the office as it worked was always an overwhelming one to Lucy; she could feel the concentration creeping up her spine, along with a myriad of other sensations radiating off of each fellow FBI colleague as she walked into a clear space further into the office. "Keep to the left, up the steps, second door." she whispered to herself, gaining the attention of a dark-skinned man, who sat at the closest desk to her, although Lucy was oblivious to this and more focused on envisioning her route to SSA Hotchner's office, where she would surely make a fool of herself. Lucy located the steps, and softly slammed her oxford brogues on every one, careful not to trip. Steps: complete. In no time, the second door was before her, and her tanned knuckles rasping on the solid door. Nerves were eating away at her now, and for once, Lucy was sure they were her own. The door swung open revealing a stoic SSA Hotchner, who's face held no emotion whatsoever―but Lucy, along with her 'gift' could see beyond that; he clearly wasn't looking forward to this meeting, and that made Agent Florence feel a hundred times worse.

Strauss was not lying when she said that Agent Florence was young―of course, her file stated she was twenty-three, but she looked much younger in person. "Agent Florence, I'm SSA Hotchner, pleasure to meet you." he started, extending his hand for her to shake―he could tell just by looking at her she was anxious, just by the way her eyes flickered around her surroundings, she mumbled a 'you too' in reply, her cheeks heating up in discomfort for the situation. "Please, come in." he said simply, standing near the door, allowing entry to the girl. Hotch made eye contact with the rest of his team, who all stood in a group around Reid's desk, a questioning look in each of their eye's.

"Agent Florence, after reading your file I think you would be a valuable asset to the BAU team, however, if you would like, I ask you to spend today with the team just so I can see how you work with them." he announced, leaving no room for questioning―he was doubtful of her ability, in all honesty, to keep up with the team; she was barely an adult.

Lucy looked at the man sitting on the opposite side of the desk. She could feel the disinterest picking at the pores on her arms, and the need to be polite making her hairs prick up. "You don't." she mumbled, face reddening at her thoughts unconsciously being made aloud. God, she was an idiot.

"I'm sorry?" he asked, though it wasn't a question. He demanded to know what she meant.

"I-," she started, her eyes wide at being trapped in something she didn't mean to say, "You don't think I'd be an asset to the team, and you don't want me to join you. Your-You're just appeasing SES Strauss?" she finished, the ending sounding more like a question than a statement as she scratched at her trousers. "B-But thank you for the offer, Agent Hotchner, I'll give you a reprieve in declining." Lucy added, giving a forced smile in understanding to the man before getting up and opening the door.

"Thank you again." she said in farewell, before exiting the room and hastily making her way down the steps―she just wanted to leave before feeling even more embarrassed. She could feel the eyes of a bunch of agents huddled at a nearby desk, but Lucy didn't care. 

"Agent Florence." SSA Hotchner's voice boomed gently yet authoritatively throughout the room, causing a few others in the vicinity to look at the girl. Lucy halted and visibly flinched―she was never one for loud masculine voices; they were kind of terrifying. The red-faced girl swivelled around on the heels of her mocha brogues, not meeting the eyes of Agent Hotchner, with and impatient and agitated look on her face, while rubbing her index finger and thumb up and down the handle of her satchel, waiting as Agent Hotchner, confidently made his way down the steps and towards her.

Hotch was surprised when the young girl read him so clearly, despite him knowing he did not let slip any of his feelings. Strauss was right when she said the young agent could be an asset―he knew it was right to give her a chance. "Agent Florence," he started, although unsure of what to actually say, "you were. . .right to make that observation, if I'm being completely honest. But I do want you to spend the day with me and my team." Hotch made sure to leave no room for disagreement on her half, turning more towards what Lucy assumed was the 'team', who had moved closer to their leader and were at the desk she had stood by on entering the BAU. "We have a case." was all he said, and each member replied by quickly entering the first door up the stairs.

"Agent Hotchner," Lucy started―she was infuriated, to say the least, she just wanted to go back to teaching, in all honesty―working with people was never a strongsuit of hers, "I don't really work well with teams." she added with finality.

"Well, today you're going to have to learn to." Hotch stated before turning and strolling slowly to the meeting room, the ghost of a smile on his lips at the peeved girl. He heard her sigh in defeat before her presence was felt behind him, following him to the first door on the left.


	3. Discomforts of psychosis.

SAME DAY,   
BAU MEETING ROOM,  
QUANTICO.

Lucy could not move. Sure, there was nothing physically restricting her from moving out of the doorway and taking a seat, but the constant unsurety regarding the team before her, paired with her incessant fear of friendship and judgement acted as a barrier, whether it was protecting her from hurt feelings or guarding them from the inevitable bluntness and awkwardness to which she would surely meet them, Lucille did not know. So instead, she just stared.

A woman with ebony hair stood before her, hand extended and welcoming smile decorating her slightly tanned face. "Emily Prentiss, nice to meet you."

Lucy stared in disbelief at the woman; she almost didn't expect such a warm welcoming from any of the team. The overall mood of the Unit was. . .almost annoyance, towards her. Lucy felt the waves of welcome radiating from Emily; they weaved through the dark mocha strands of her hair, spreading, like root hairs, across her head. Lucy remembered she still had yet to introduce herself ‒ she gently placed her hand in Emily's, the slight tremor in it surely noticed by the Agent. "L-Lucy," she started, letting out a breath she didn't know she was holding,"Hi." Prentiss gave the young girl a sweet smile, noticing how her shoulders seemed to relax a little before she moved further into the room, taking one of the unoccupied seats.

"Everyone, this is Agent Lucille Florence, she will be joining us on our case today."

Again, all eyes were on the youthful girl, who instead of taking an interest in the people before her, attempted to busy herself with taking off her blazer, revealing the cream-coloured blouse beneath it. Lucy looked up, accidentally making eye contact with a man not much older than herself―he had pretty hazel eyes, with slightly long brown hair, slicked back haphazardly. His eyes seemed to take in her whole person, suffocating them in their deep colour. Lucy could feel the uneasiness of everyone around her, including Hotch―there's no way he wanted her here, and from the thawing sensation in her wrists, along with the pained anger she felt in her chest, the other members of the team felt the same way.

The doctor couldn't help but stare at the young agent in curiosity. He could immediately tell she was uncomfortable — the way her eyes kept darting around the room; but never landing on any of its inhabitants. The gauntness of her face told him that sleep wasn't something that came easy to her — that was clear from the discoloured skin under her eyes, as well as the permanently dull glint of exhaustion that her dark orbs seemed to hold hostage. She was anxious too — her dainty hands couldn't seem to help but find the obviously familiar feeling of the jewellery around her throat; it looked like a locket of some sort, and Spencer could tell from its state that she'd probably had it for a very long time — it's metallic shine had been reduced to a dull, cloudy silver, and there were scratches in the metalwork. Spencer once again took in her appearance, much to his dismay capturing the attention of the object of his curiosity. He awaited her reaction — a scared doe-like expression appeared on her face for a millisecond, before being replaced by the furrowing of her neat brows and a glare his way. This of course, sent Spencer Reid into a vicious attack of flustering and embarrassment, suddenly taking interest in the folder before him; yet from the corner of his eye he saw something eminently sorrowful yet kind in the hollow shell of the smile she couldn't help but give when she assumed no one was paying attention — however before he could ponder more on it, it was gone; her expression quickly rushed back into its nonchalant state, no trace of the small, adorable smile on her face. Spencer Reid was suddenly glad he had an eidetic memory.

Lucy let out an uneasy sigh as her hand brushed over the glossy crime scene photos before her. ‒ God, it was going to be a long day. Her dainty hands wrapped around the open folder, allowing her to read each horrific detail carefully, and create the gruesome images in her mind ‒ the depths people were willing to go to in order to hurt one another was always a shock to her. A jaunty ringtone reverberated throughout the room, followed by the swift exit of the Unit Chief. Lucy suddenly felt cornered; she could feel a plethora of eyes on her, waiting for a reaction. The man who had previously been observing her seated himself in the plush, black chair beside her, clearing his throat as a weak attempt to gain her attention. Slowly, she looked up at him, her eyes brushing over his stiff, thin body, viewing the navy blue shirt and striped brown tie that decorated his long stature ‒ which was dishevelled enough to make a small smile appear on Lucy's achingly still mouth; he looked so effortlessly adorable, Lucy almost felt bad for how distant and cold she sometimes was with people she had just met ‒ it was just easier. The more distanced they were, the less likely she was to get attached, and overall this meant she was more able to detach herself from their feelings. She didn't really know how it worked ‒ no one did. It just made sense that the more they disliked her, the more able she was to tell her own feelings from theirs, and separate herself from them.

She soon noticed he was staring right back at her, causing a rosy tint to fill her cheeks ‒ why the hell was she feeling like this? She glanced down at the coroner's reports in front of her, preparing herself for the inevitable and excruciating conversation she was about to have. "Hello, Agent." she managed, as polite as she could muster, trying to ignore the agonising migraine attacking her overwhelmed brain.

He stared at her incredulously, obviously not expecting her to speak, before he snapped his peach-coloured mouth shut and processed her words. "Actually, it's doctor. Doc‒"

"Actually, I don't care." Lucy replied aggressively, the movement of her fingers on her temples coming to a stop; guilt immediately consuming her as she saw the pained grimace on his face. The man sighed in defeat, gathering up his folder before standing up to move away.

"Wait," Lucy started ‒ she honestly did not mean to be so completely and utterly rude, "I'm Agent Lucy Florence. A-And yourself?" her eyelashes batted kindly, as she tried to forcefully push all of the previous malice from her voice. Lucille Florence was never one for friends ‒ it's true, she found people exhausting; and that was the exact reason in her whole twenty three years of life, she had only allowed herself to be close to one person. But maybe, Lucy thought, this was her chance to move out of her comfort zone. After all, it's not as if she was here for long ‒ it was only a day.

The man seemed to perk up at her sudden change in mood, sending her a sweet smile and eagerly sitting back down in the seat next to her, forgetting her previously belligerent tone. He reminded Lucy of a bedraggled Labrador, with wide, chestnut brown eyes and a youthful, intelligent glint in them. "I'm Doctor Spencer Reid." He seemed to hesitate, as he extended his long bony hand towards her in greeting.

Lucy let out a sigh of conflict ‒ to shake or not to shake? Instead of pondering any further on the topic, she let her hand softly collide with the Doctor's. She felt his discomfort before he himself had processed it; the tingle in her throat spreading to her chest. Lucy snatched her hand back to her own body, frowning at the young doctor in front of her who's shock was evident on his hurt expression.

"Why did you offer me your hand if you were so uncomfortable with it?" Lucy was curious; she cocked her head to the side and allowed her eyes to flicker over the Doctor, who was now blushing a furious red.

Spencer didn't quite know what to make of her. He'd managed to get her to speak to someone other than Hotch and Emily, and she'd even been polite to him — well, after her rude outburst, anyway. How did she know he was so uncomfortable? "I-I well‒"

"Nevermind." she finished simply, leaving no room for whatever excuse he was about to pull out of thin air, she could tell he was surprised by his repetitive stuttering. Lucy was already too exhausted to carry this on‒ she did try; she tried to be polite. The Doctor's own discomfort was still weaving its way throughout her delicate body, making her wriggle in her seat and avoid eye contact with the man who was still staring at her in surprise.

Spencer wasn't sure how to feel about the woman in front of him. But he did know that she was most likely an empath. In the human population, only 1 in 50 people are known empath's, making it a rare disorder. In all his time, he had never met one, until now. Doctor Reid was forty-eight percent positive that Agent Florence was one of those fifty. Before he could voice his suspicions to her, Hotch re-entered the room, his face still in its seemingly natural frozen state.

"Okay, JJ." Hotch spoke, indicating to the blonde woman to present the case.

With the click of a button, the crisp screen behind Agent Jareau changed to a barbaric snapshot of the crime in question. "These are victims six and seven, within a two-week span." she stated matter-of-factly.

"All killed with a bladed weapon?" Prentiss questioned, her eyes not leaving the photos on the screen.

"Yeah. The attacks are getting progressively worse."

Doctor Reid examined the file before him, reading the horrific recount of the prior crime scenes. "The first five were lone victims."

Lucy sighed loudly, capturing the attention of the rest of the team, they watched her as she scrutinised a plethora of the crime scene photos sadly; her face stuck in unwavering concentration, her knitted eyebrows causing a crease to form inbetween them.

"What is it, Agent Florence?" Hotch asked, her head snapping up at the sudden question and use of her name; hickory-brown locks whirling around her surprised face.

Lucy let out an unsteady, large breath, glancing at each of the team before returning her walnut eyes to the photos splayed out before her. "Well. He's getting more confident in his kills, more bolder too. His mind ‒ it's-it's all over the place. It's possible we're dealing with someone who's in the middle of a psychotic break."

"I think she's right. Dave Rossi I‒"

"I-I know who you are," Lucy stated quietly, "I've read your books."

Lucy rubbed her thumb over her elbow uncomfortably, giving Rossi a tight-lipped smile in reply to his proud grin.

Hotch cleared his throat and turned to JJ, "Tell LAPD we can be there by nine-thirty."


	4. The acceptable face of invading realities.

LOS ANGELES,

CALIFORNIA.

"I'm just saying, Morgan, you'd avoid the traffic! We could've been there five minutes ago!"Reid exclaimed frustratingly, his long hands waving in front of him, accentuating his odd passion regarding LA traffic. A sigh from the backseat stole the doctor's attention―the nonchalant, pretty face of Agent Florence was suddenly in his sight. Hotch had ordered her to join the doctor and Agent Morgan on the journey to LA, and she'd been silent the whole way―she looked tired.

"Agent Florence," the Doctor started, shifting in his seat to face her, "can I ask you a question?"

Lucy's head snapped up at the Doctor, before smiling sheepishly at him, "You just did. " 

"I-I guess I did," he replied sadly, glaring at Morgan as he let out a breathy laugh, "but, can I ask why you're joining us on the case―n-not that I think it's bad!"

Lucy couldn't help but giggle softly at the flustered Doctor, his well-structured face reddening in embarrassment at himself. "Well, it's a bit of a big story, Doctor Reid." she said simply, hoping she didn't have to explain herself.

"You can call me Spencer," began the Doctor, before adding, "and I'm sure we have time, now." he sarcastically said, sending another glare towards Morgan.

A large breath escaped from Lucy's soft-smiling lips. Spencer watched as her chest rose up and down, the breath leaving her delicate mouth―her throat shifted slowly, as Lucy swallowed her awkwardness temporarily.

There was no harm in telling them, she thought. They seemed nice enough, and it wasn't as if she was joining the team. "Well, Doc―Spencer," stammered Lucille, feeling his name roll elegantly off of her tongue, "firstly, please call me Lucy. And, well, Agent Hotchner wanted me to join the team‒er, you guys; well actually I think Strauss wanted that, and forced Agent Hotchner into a sort of interview with me." Lucy chuckled nervously as she recounted the events of earlier that morning. She made eye contact with Reid, who was solely concentrated on her, his eyes urging her to continue‒ even Agent Morgan seemed to be listening intently.

"A-And he wanted to see what I was like working with you all, and on the case. That's pretty much it ‒ but don't worry! I-I don't think I'll be joining the team." she mumbled quietly at the end, the palm of her hand wrapping around the side of her neck in discomfort and awkwardness.

"Why don't you think you'll be joining the team?" Morgan piped up from the driver's seat, earning a nod from Reid and an inquiring glance towards Lucy. 

Lucy was saved from answering, which she considered a reprieve, as they reached the crime scene. She could see various LAPD vehicles scattered around the busy, crowded street, watching as a slick black limousine rushed down the pot-hole filled, asphalt road.

The two agents and doctor exited the large, onyx SUV. Even from a mile away, Lucy could feel the anger and pain in each individual body part scattered among the trash in the alleyway before them. Lucy visibly shuddered at the anger, making her blood simmer and heart palpitate, which didn't go unnoticed by Spencer, as he looked down at her in slight alarm while she stared out at the alleyway ahead, which remained dark despite the sun having risen hours ago ‒ as if the sun itself knew not to dwell or fixate its rays of light upon that dreaded passage.

While Spencer and Agent Morgan spoke to the lead Detective, Lucy made her way towards the alleyway, absentmindedly brandishing her black, leather FBI identification to the on-duty officer guarding the scene‒ it's picture showing a young, innocent Lucille Florence, eyes wide and face in a subtle frown ‒ she really needed to get that updated.

Lucy came to a sudden halt; her cinnamon-coloured brogues scraping along the concrete pavement, a shaky sigh escaping her throat as the excruciating sensation of ferocity blossomed in her chest. Lucy allowed the feeling to fill her senses, the pendulum she always imagined swinging uniformly in her mind, opening up the treacherous pathway of emotion that lay before her, in the crime and around them.

Desperation clung to the stagnant water filling the crevices between pathway and road, it's mahogany and cedar shade glistening with rich savagery. Next, she allowed her mind to travel to the speckled walls, once a neat yet dull pewter colour, now flecked and stippled with viscose yellow and congealed blood ‒ she could tell that some of it was crumbling; it's flakes of torment being carried by the strong breeze which whipped and whirled throughout the alley.

A soft grip stole the concentrating girl from her ruthless mind, making her jolt forward in alarm, her breathing hitching, and chest pounding; her heart beating ten to the dozen. The searing pain through her forehead knocked her off balance, her legs wobbling in shock.

The worried hands of Spencer wrapped around her shoulders securely as he looked at her, startled, his face reddening more and more every second, before reaching an optimum garnet hue. "A-Are you okay, Luce?" if his expression hadn't already shown his concern, his faltering voice gave it away.

Lucy allowed herself to catch her breath, hunching over with her hands on her bent knees ‒ her head felt like it had just gone seven rounds with a goddamn claw hammer, which was clearly evident in her stature as Spencer crouched down beside her, his caramel eyes laced with perturbation. "I-I'm fine, Spencer." she smacked his hands away, the agony of her headache worsening as her vision began to blur. "I just need a second, please."

Spencer let his eyes check over the whole five foot three girl, her paling skin suggesting some kind of turmoil. He watched as she rubbed her temples, the front pieces of her hair matting and tangling with each circular motion of her fingers.

"Spence," Lucy started, barely noticing the nickname rolling off her tongue as she shielded her eyes from the light above, "I think I'm right about the psychotic break thing." Lucy gently shut her eyes, allowing them to relax inside her skull, before slowly opening them, revealing a still worried Spencer Reid in front of her. Lucy could sense the worry radiating off of him, building up thickly in her diaphragm. "Stop being so worried, I'm fine. It's just a headache." Lucy's head was getting worse and worse; her brain felt like it was swelling gigantically inside her head. "I'm gonna stay in the car. I've seen all I need to see."

Before Spencer could reply, she stalked off weakly towards the SUV, ducking under the painfully bright yellow tape and mixing with the myriad of uniformed officers roaming nearby. Spencer frowned in worry, before a small blush and smile graced his face: she called him 'Spence'.

Lucy slammed the door of the SUV shut, the tinted windows acting as her protector from the outside light. She grabbed the rusty-orange, leather-bound notepad from her satchel, flicking through diagrams and drawings and writing to a crisp blank page, inscribing the date and place in the top right corner; her cursive, ebony writing contrasting to the light cream of the page. Lucy described her feelings in the alleyway, leaning her throbbing head against the window, which was warming from the sunlight being lured to it by its onyx shade, and from the heat transferring from the young agent's pained head.


	5. Raw power of the human brain.

THE NEXT DAY,

LOS ANGELES.

One day. That's how long Lucy Florence was supposed to spend at the BAU. Yet, here she was, a day later, riding through the streets of Los Angeles to another crime scene, surrounded by the BAU team she had actually grown to like. The warm breeze accompanied the team to the home of Glen Hill, a notorious gang leader. Lucy could feel the headache from yesterday still nagging in the back of her mind. She absentmindedly reached for the aspirin in her bag, the crunch of several pills filling the vehicle as Spencer watched her incredulously while she allowed her teeth to grind the medication. Lucy gave him a questioning look in return; his face morphing into a rosy blush, making Lucy grin at him and inspiring her to do something completely out of her character: she teased him. "Dr. Reid," she started in a husky and hushed voice, leaning into him so only he could hear, "has anyone ever told you how pretty you look when you're all flustered like that?"

If there was one thing Lucy Florence had learnt about Doctor Spencer Reid in the short time she'd known him, it was that he found her very interesting. She could tell by the intense stares he would unleash on her when he thought she wasn't looking, and by the blatant blush he would get when she caught him. It also seemed he wasn't much of a ladies-man ‒ something Lucy found hard to believe; he had definitely earned the nickname 'Pretty Boy', which she had heard Agent Morgan call him at least a hundred times since meeting them yesterday.

He blushed furiously at her question, glaring at her playful demeanour. He couldn't help but smile softly at her and how much she'd seemed to open to them all since yesterday morning. "No, Agent Florence, no they haven't." 

Lucy felt the odourless stench of death prick at her skin as Spencer held the crime scene tape high, allowing her to duck underneath it; already seeing the slouched, motionless body of a yet-to-be-identified gang member, laid out unnaturally on the house's porch. She sighed as she noticed the weapon nearby, avoiding the body as herself and the team ventured further into Glen Hill's property.

The team scrutinised the graffiti and scrawl on the wall; a lot of it unreadable, mostly because of the seemingly endless amount of blood that covered every wall‒ but Lucy still noticed the repetition of three letters: T.S.K. "What's TSK?" she questioned the lead detective, pointing to the white letters in the corner of the room, outlined in a red cloud.

"Twenty-third Street Killers." he replied simply, distaste evident in his tone ‒ he clearly did not like these people.

"Looks like they tried to fight back." remarked Agent Rossi, twirling an ebony pistol around his index finger.

"They failed." added Spencer obviously, as he concentrated on the blood splatter patterns in the adjoining room.

Lucy opened the front door wide, allowing light into the dark room and stood in the doorway. She blocked out the noises around her, allowing them to become a slight buzz in the back of her mind. The imaginary pendulum swung in her head, clearing each cadaver and blood splatter from her surroundings ‒ the midnight-black moths that usually surrounded her when she was within the borders of her mind hovering around her, fluttering. She glanced at them before letting out a deep sigh, stepping into the scarring shoes of the killer.

All eyes snapped towards her at her odd actions as she stood in the door-frame, eyes closed and in pure concentration. "So I start on the porch," she began, turning around almost to see, although her eyes were closed, "my first victim greets me out there, gun in hand, cursing and waving his hands around aggressively. I sever the thoradic aorta in one, furious strike. He hunches over, and I strike again, this time slicing through the abdominal aorta. I allow him to bleed out on the porch. My choice of weapon is either one or two matching long-blades."

The men surrounding her couldn't help but stare in bewilderment at the young, oblivious agent, whose eyelids remained closed softly as she turned around, now facing the room before them.

"I kick the door open angrily, catching the three men in the room off-guard. Before the closest has a chance to reach his gun, I slash at his torso multiple times, blood spraying across the walls and all over me. I plunge the blade one final time into his chest," she begins, taking a large intake of breath and allowing her voice to simmer to a whisper, "This is my design."

The local Detective moves to interrupt her, words lingering on his lips as Hotch holds an arm out, a silent command to not intervene in Lucy's detailed recount of the crime.

"I'm furious," Lucy starts simply, the lifeless body of the second victim fresh in her mind, "These people have hurt me in one way or another. Perhaps hurt me or a loved one. God, I'm hurting. Enough to cause a psychosis. My anger is focused solely on them, and I will not stop. Next I‒"

"Hotch you need to see this."

The sudden, loud voice brings Lucy back to the full room, her cheeks flushing at the stunned faces staring at her. She brought her fingers slowly to her forehead, rubbing large circles into her temples at the anticipated migraine spreading like poison ivy through her moth-riddled mind. Lucy reached hastily into her bag, grasping the orange pill-container in her shaking hand. Four pills spilled from the container into her hands, as she shoved them quickly into her frowning mouth, willing them to take affect immediately.

Hotch glanced at her questioningly before following Prentiss into the adjoining room, along with the detective and Agent Morgan. Instead of tagging along, Spencer leaned against the nearest doorway, observing the woman before him. If he was being honest, he did not expect that ‒ I don't think anyone did. Spencer thought it was amazing.

Lucy could see the ever-building questions in the Doctor's eyes. She could feel his dark-brown orbs on her, making her shiver at their intensity, hiding her face from his stare. "How did you do that?" he questioned gently, not taking his eyes off of her.

"I just used what the scene is telling us. The injuries on the bodies, splatter patterns, overkill. I just paint the picture." Lucy replied monotonously, as if she'd been asked that question thousands of times ‒ which, of course, she had.

"I see. That's, well, that's‒er, that's cool."

Lucy snorted at his comment, her shoulders rolling back as she stepped further into the room. "Yeah, I guess. Gives me a killer headache, though." she remarked, comparing a blood splatter on the wall with her index finger. "Thank you," she suddenly announced, earning her a questioning glance from Spencer, "for not asking lots of questions. Usually people ask so many questions."

Spencer could hear the annoyance laced in her voice, accompanied by the relentless exhaustion that seemed to travel along every sound-wave emitting from her body.

"It's okay. Now, carry on explaining what happened, please."

Lucy's cranium felt like it had been launched into a ruthless, unceasing blender; every miniscule slither of relief short-lived, each reprieve seemingly increasing the monumental, barbaric thumping in her head, brain knocking against skull every minute. There were a few times, on occasion, where the aspirin rendered useless ‒ this was no surprise to Lucy, as she was sure her resistance to the substance was growing with every pill that washed down her small, dry throat ‒ now, it seemed, was one of those times. No amount of acetylsalicylic acid* could cure her of the incessant migraine attacking her head, and this was no doubt one of the worse times for her faulty immune system to malfunction. Lucy was beginning to suspect her own body wanted to torment her as much as possible, both mentally and physically ‒ how are you supposed to win a war against yourself?

Her self-commiseration was cut short by the loud, intentional clearing of a throat beside her, the expression on Rossi's face indicating he was expecting some kind of answer on her side, the question remaining unknown to the previously oblivious, headache-bearing woman slouched on the left of the middle-aged man. "I'm sorry, what was the question?" her eyes flickered to each individual in the vehicle, a sense of enervation creeping stealthily up her weak body as she struggled to keep her eyes open.

"I asked how you knew all that. . .stuff, in there." Hotch piped up from the drivers seat, eyes kept steadily on the road before him.

Lucy sighed at the question, wishing she didn't have to have this conversation for the millionth time. "I just used what the reports said, and by the damage to the bodies, and overall emotions that were in the room and in the crime itself. Okay?" she snapped, placing her sore head on the head-rest and looking out the window.

"How do you know how to do that?" Morgan asked, clearly not seeing that she didn't want to talk about it ‒ not everyone had her talent when it came to understanding emotions, she remembered.

"Just do, isn't really a thing they teach at the FBI Academy, is it?" she answered back, fatigue evident on her delicate lips and in her speech, as she ignored all further conversation and fell asleep.

Onyx moths fluttered, almost in panic around the flaxen-coloured room, each one like a roaming black hole or abyss, preparing to swallow her up whole. She watched in horror as the frail body of a young man, covered in a mixture of tattoos and blood lay helplessly on the floor, his eyes wide open in a glassy state of pure terror and lifelessness. Upon reaching the corpse, Lucy leaned down, her knees in what she noticed was luke-warm water, soaking the long flowy dress she hadn't realised she had been wearing. The frozen flesh of the lifeless man was placed on her bony shoulder, tyrannical lament and turmoil usurping her body, causing it to shudder involuntarily at the necromantic contact. She pushed the icy hand away from her, falling backwards into a sea of bottomless ink. Her lungs filled with the viscose substance, suffocating her from within with its tsunami of liquefied charcoal and grave wax smothered her relentlessly. Lucy felt her chest heaving weightily with discomfort and panic, her voice croaking at the lack of air. She clutched at her throat weakly, feeling the spindles of concentrated dead matter creep up her diaphragm before—

Lucy jolted awake with sheer trepidation, her heart pounding furiously like a rapid Djembe drum, her body covered in cold sweat as she breathed erratically, to her consternation, still in the backseat of the SUV, and with all eyes anxiously on her. Lucy placed her trembling hands on the seat before her, before placing her head alongside them.

"You okay, kid?" Rossi asked from next to her, his voice laced thickly, and practically dripping with concern.

Lucy could not for the life of her build up the courage to reply, and instead just leaned back in her seat in pure silence for the rest of the journey, avoiding all the anxious glances directed at her. She could feel the worried, coffee-brown eyes of Dr. Reid on her constantly, boring into her with sheer disquietude.

Spencer could see the turmoil on her face, as clearly as if it had been written onto her golden skin with permanent marker. The minute drops of sweat made her skin glisten in the afternoon sun as it flowed through the open window. Lucy's eyes, despite the disturbed look in them, glowed magically in the sunlight, becoming an almost liquescent blue; Spencer thought they looked like the lagoons you'd find in the Maldives, every hue and tone of blue captured in the deep rim of colour in her eyes. Only eight percent of the world's population has blue irises, however Spencer was sure that the eyes of Lucy Florence were the rarest commodity of them all, and none of that eight percent could compare to the troubled woman at the other end of the vehicle.


	6. The joined hands of pain and joy.

LAPD PRECINCT,

LOS ANGELES.

The loud static of the handheld radio joined the noisy murmur of the large precinct, before the deep voice of Agent Morgan took over. "We got him." he announced simply, his smooth, deep voice disappearing at the click of the walkie-talkie. McHale's agent sighed defeatedly from his seat at one of the many desks in the precinct, opposite Agent Jareau; the sadness evident in his pained expression.

Over an hour ago, Bobby Kim had stepped into the precinct, despair clear on his frowning face—as soon as he found a listening ear, his worry was expressed passionately, speaking his concerns for his client and how unhinged he had become since the murder of his girlfriend. The file of Mr. McHale was brought up hastily on the computer, Rossi exclaiming that this was the man he'd seen at the first crime scene, where they'd discovered the bodies. Hotch, along with Morgan, Prentiss and a detective, left almost immediately to pursue and arrest the graphic novelist. 

The doors to the precinct opened widely, the small, skinny stature of Jonny McHale barely filling the doorway as a detective, along with Agent Morgan dragged him to the nearest interview room, making eye contact with his former agent as he did so. From her place next to Reid, Lucy watched as the suspect was pulled through. Even from that distance, she could feel the distress and pain radiating from him, as well as the extreme confusion etched upon his ragged features. She could see the bloodstain on his thin, white vest-top, the burgundy shade most likely linking him to the savage slaughter at Glen Hill's private residence. Lucy let out a shudder ― she could understand perfectly what had made him do it‒not just because she could empathise and step into his shoes, but because she'd experienced what he was feeling, although without the psychotic break. Losing a loved one is the most painful thing in the world, and here was a vulnerable, fragile man who instead of grieving, got revenge‒which he'd no doubt have to pay for in years locked up at a mental institution. Lucy could tell some of the others understood too.

Officers hauled in box upon box of personal items, bagged in clear plastic evidence bags that always smelled like burnt alcohol. "Want to help me go through his stuff?" Spencer asked awkwardly, towering over her absentmindedly while a rosy hue filled his face; his eyes holding a hopeful glint in their earthly brown shade.

Lucy gave him a delicate smile, tucking a strand of her sunkissed hair behind her ear as she admired his soft face. "Of course, Doctor Reid." she replied, following after him hurriedly as she tried to match his large-stepping pace.

"I told you, call me Spencer!" he exclaimed, an unexpected surge of confidence flowing through him wondrously. He felt his heart melt at the small giggle that escaped her mouth, as she muttered a "Sorry" to him.

Lucy unrolled the large paper from one of the cardboard boxes, a mixture of red, white and black filling it expertly with comic strips‒dark figures and violent drawings filling the page. Lucy furrowed her brows at the artwork, unplaceable recognition filling her mind. "Spence, look at these." In seconds he was beside her, softly taking the drawings from her dainty hands. He angled the paper downwards, allowing the short girl to see it still.

Spencer concentrated fully on the image, oblivious to the small agent admiring his focused face. Lucy watched as his face scrunched up, his head cocking slightly to the side in puzzlement as he thought deeply about the bundle of drawings in his long bony hands. "I think these are the crime scenes. Look, this one's the alleyway where we found those bodies when we first arrived." he showed her, placing it on the top of a cardboard box, "Luce, pass me that photo." He said, pointing to the picture of Glen Hill's property that stood prominently on the board beside them.

Lucy did as she was told, ripping the picture from its place and holding it next to the drawing in Spencer's hand. "Wait, that looks like Glen Hill's place!" she remarked, taking the comic from Spencer and holding both hands up, comparing the drawing and photograph. Spencer watched her in awe as her eyebrows scrunched up at the two pictures, scrutinising them carefully. He grinned at Lucy, before remembering that this was evidence and could help Hotch and the others.

"Hotch needs to see these." Spencer announced, swiping the rest of the drawings off the table and the one from Lucy's hand. Lucy busied herself with going through the rest of the artist's belongings. Morgan stood beside her, joining in the search, although speaking through the phone to Garcia, Tech Analyst of the BAU that Lucy had yet to meet. With a quick informal goodbye, Morgan hung up and grabbed a small silver flip phone from the desk, brandishing McHale's phone in his hand, waving it around in front of her before flipping it open and searching the recent contacts. "He's called this one number like a dozen times."

Lucy glanced at Morgan, looking down at the call screen. "Call it?" she suggested, earning a nod from Morgan. He clicked the call button, causing the screen change to a mundane ringing one. The sudden ringing of one of the boxes made both Agents jump, Lucy quickly reaching into the vibrating box and retrieving a wooden case, where the noise seemed to be coming from. The ringing stopped, revealing a voicemail message to them both. It didn't take them long to figure out that 'Vickie' was McHale's ex-girlfriend, tragically beaten and killed by members of the Twenty-third Street Killers.

"God, no wonder he went after these guys. They're the ones who beat up him and his girlfriend. He barely made it out alive." Lucy announced, her face set in a sympathetic frown.

Suddenly, Prentiss exited the interview room, throwing a bullet-proof vest each to Lucy and Morgan. "We know where Glen Hill is, come on."

Lucy froze ‒ they wanted her to go out in the field? She clutched the navy-blue vest tightly, her moist hands evidence of her anxiety. "Y-You want me to come?"

"Of course, Lucy. Let me help you with your vest." Prentiss replied softly, grabbing the vest from her hands and putting it over her head. The motherly sensation was strange to Lucy ‒ she didn't quite know how to feel.

"O-Okay?" she replied, unsurety lacing her voice as Emily secured her vest tightly.

"Great, let's go."

Morgan booted the wooden door open aggressively, wooden splinters flying throughout the dimly-lit room, the natural light source from the tiny window beaming down onto the lifeless corpse of Glen Hill, strapped sloppily to an oak chair. Prentiss and Morgan turned around, defeated, Morgan clicking buttons on his phone, most likely to call Hotch. Lucy peered inside the room, gasping quietly at the utter carnage unleashed in the small space. Blood sprayed and decorated each wall with its diminishing life essence and crimson shade, illuminated by the minute rays of sunlight entering through the single-pane window on the back wall; the brightness weaving gently throughout the room with death-like stealth. Lucy stared wide-eyed at the slouched cadaver of Glen Hill; he may have been a drug-dealer, gang-leader and murderer, but no one deserved to be slaughtered and butchered right where they sat — but still, Lucy understood it from Jonny's point of view. He'd lost so much at the hands of these criminals; he'd lost his girlfriend, his mind, and nearly his life. Lucy reached for the brass door-handle, listening to the creak of the broken door as she closed it as much as she could, locking in the brutality that lay within its four walls. 

They'd reached Quantico a lot sooner than expected, thanks to Reid's incessant complaining about traffic routes, and Morgan's inability to listen to it for the rest of the journey. The once-familiar, beige walls of the building were in sight, lit up subtly by the in-ground spotlights that made the building seem as if it just naturally emitted light. Lucy sighed as they entered the building, exhaustion hitting her as soon as the elevator rang and began its ascent to the upper floors. She had to have a meeting with Hotch upon arrival at the BAU, and needless to say she was not looking forward to it. In all honesty, she was kind of sad to be leaving the BAU, she'd actually started to enjoy it; not so much the head-splitting migraines and troubling nightmares, but they weren't exactly new. Lucy Florence had truthfully begun to like the BAU, and especially the team that came with it.

"Agent Florence, in here please." Hotch called from the doorway of his office; it was only a mere three days ago she'd sat in there and denied the invitation to join the BAU — if only she'd known then that it was the opportunity of a lifetime. She mirrored Hotch's movements, sitting down on one of the room's many plush seats, now wide awake. Anxiety ate away at her insides ravenously, making the young agent feel hollow and achy. "I'm going to ask you again, Florence. How would you feel about joining my team?"

Lucy furrowed her brows, so much so she could see the fluffy hairs of her eyebrows in her vision — he was asking her to join again? And here she was thinking they were about to devise a plan to get Strauss off of their backs. "Y-You want me to join the team? Like seriously?"

A small smile appeared on Agent Hotchner's face; a rare occurrence it seemed. "Yes, I do. I know initially it wasn't the most appetising idea, but I think it's in our best interest to have you on our side. The others seem to like you a lot, and I think you're a good agent and would excel in this position."

Lucy was stunned. Perplexed. Speechless. Not for one moment did she believe she'd get another chance at joining the BAU, and here it was, practically gift-wrapped in all its federal glory. "O-Okay. Yes. It would be a pleasure."

"I was hoping you'd say that. You start tomorrow, you'll have to bring a go-kit with you everyday, and keep your phone on always for emergencies."

"Okay, yes—right. Wait! Can we not tell the others? I don't want to make a big deal out of it—not that it's like a big deal or anything just—"

"That's fine. Now go get some sleep, we start early."

"Of course, Agent Hotchner. Thank you. I-I guess I will be seeing you tomorrow." Lucy finished, laughing breathily, trying to shake down the want to jump around and scream excitedly—wait until Michael hears about this!

"Goodbye, Agent Florence."

Lucy waved goodbye and shut the door to his office, slinging both of her bags over her right shoulder. She hopped down the short flight of steps she'd feared her first day here, flinging herself into the vast office that only held the other members of the team. She hesitated—did she say goodbye to them or not? It felt awkward. Lucy filled her chest with oxygenated courage and let out a "Goodbye", any quieter and it would've been a whisper. She walked hastily to the elevator, stepping inside as the young Doctor ran to catch up with her.

"Wait! Goodbye, Lucy." he panted, despite the distance from the office to the elevator being rather short.

Lucy smiled at him, feeling the buzz of electricity from the elevator as it readied to close the doors. "See you tomorrow, Doctor Reid." she teased, watching as his face morphed into one of confusion as the elevator doors closed slowly.

"Tomorrow? What do you mean tomor—"

The large metal doors closed on the two, leaving Lucy alone as the elevator descended to the ground. She reached for the phone in her pocket, flipping it open and clicking on the most recent number.

"Hey, Michael. You'll never guess what happened today."


	7. Trivial matter of birthrights.

QUANTICO,

VIRGINIA.

Lucy brushed her hand through the soft, silvery-mocha locks on her head, giving herself a once-over as she entered the large federal building in front of her, ready for her first official day at the Behavioural Analysis Unit. Yes, she'd spent time with the team before, hell, it was only yesterday—but now, it felt different; it was if she had someone or something to make extreme effort for. Dressed in her favourite brown turtleneck and hunter-green plaid trousers, she let her usual brown brogues to carry her through the front of the building, security, and finally to the elevator. Lucy allowed her mind to drift to the previous day, the befuddled face of Spencer Reid flashing in her mind. She smiled to herself in the comfort of the well-lit, immaculate elevator, it's thrum of electricity accompanying Lucy's journey towards her new job.

With the ding! of the mechanical box, Lucy stepped out into the vast lobby, sighing in almost bliss as she noticed the lack of people filling the floor—coming in earlier was a good choice, now she just had to wait for the others to arrive. She walked throughout the empty walls of desks, noticing the light in Agent Jareau's office. Lucy knocked on the door softly, before entering at the gentle 'come in' she heard on the other side. "Hey, JJ."

"Lucy? What're you doing here?" the stressed blonde asked, confusion evident in her tight expression. Lucy noted the bundle of manila files piled high on her desk.

"Hotch, he, um—well he offered me a job, starting immediately. Today's kinda my first day." Lucy chuckled, her hand finding the back of her neck in awkwardness.

"Oh, right. Congrats?" the blonde laughed, a pondering expression on her tanned face. Lucy could see immediately something was bothering her; the way she subconsciously grinded her teeth and eyebrows set in a tight furrow—she was sad about something. She looked around at the scattered case-files on the oak desk, grimacing at the slither of crime scene photos peeking out of some of the files.

"It must be hard," she started, earning her a questioning glance from JJ, "to have all these cases come to you and having to pick one. I can't imagine how difficult that must be."

JJ looked down sadly, inspecting the plethora of horrendous crimes that lay in brown folders over her desk. "Seriously," she spoke, taking a deep breath,"I hate having to prioritise certain cases. I just wish we could solve them all at once." she chuckled with sorrow—Lucy understood how much of a toll it must take on the woman; choosing a case as if it was more important than all the rest. That can't be easy.

"Need any help?" Lucy questioned, hoping to ease the stress on the blonde agent.

"It's fine, thank you. I have today's case." she sighed largely, as if the weight of the world was upon her shoulders—in some ways, Lucy supposed it was. "Everyone should be here now, come on." JJ almost commanded, as the two women stood up and exited the small room swiftly, JJ pointing to Lucy's new desk as they walked through."By the way, your outfit is cute. Spencer will love it." the blonde teased, suddenly finding her sense of humour.

"S-Spencer? Why would he like it?" Lucy stammered, blushing a scarlet shade—the question caught her off-guard, and as the epitome of an over-thinker, it was all she thought about as they strolled to the familiar meeting room, her face still a furious red as they walked in.

"What? Did you two run here?" Rossi remarked, regarding Lucy's flushed face, and also making it redder—here Lucy was thinking she'd reached optimum blush. JJ let out a small chuckle as she moved to the front of the room, placing the files on the table.

As Lucy entered, she was greeted sweetly by a brightly dressed woman, her blonde hair matching JJ's in colour. "Hi! Penelope Garcia! You must be the Lucy Florence I've heard all about."

"Y-Yep, that's me," Lucy started breathily, surprised at the sudden introduction, "all good things I hope." she finished, laughing awkwardly.

She shook hands softly with the woman, uttering a 'Nice to meet you' and finally sitting down in one of the myriad of chairs in the room, avoiding the still-confused stare of Doctor Reid as JJ recounted the case for the team.

"Last night in Fredericksburg, a twenty-year old woman, Molly McCarthy, was abducted. She's the third to go missing in the last six weeks; all disappeared from public places and no one's seen them since." JJ hurriedly spoke, clearly still affected by the case at hand.

"Until now." Rossi remarked, looking up at the screen as JJ clicked onto the next slide.

"A couple of days ago, body parts with cigarette burns were recovered from a national park which was once the site of the Battle of Chancellorsville."

"Were they able to make an I.D?" Hotch questioned solemnly, his voice lowering a few octaves in disdain.

"It was the first victim, taken six week ago. Decomp indicated that she had been dead just over a week."

"So he likes spending time with them." Lucy concluded stoically‒the horrors inflicted on these innocent girls was wickedly evil. She thoroughly understood the effect this case had on JJ. The victimology seemed to match them both. These poor women were being brutally tortured for weeks.

"How'd she end up like that?" Prentiss asked, pointing her pen towards the severed forearm displayed on the screen, it's pale, waxy flesh making the savage bruising and congealed blood stand out, as it sat unnaturally in the wilderness of the national park; the plants seemed to inherently face away from the body-part, as if they understood the seriously cruel barbarity imposed upon what was found of the hapless young woman.

"M.E found microscopic tool marks on the bone." JJ said simply, looking at the screen hurtfully.

Spencer observed the photos on the screen, his head cocking to the side slightly, as Lucy had noticed he did whenever he was in deep thought. "I remember reading about a case like this in Spotsylvania county. Similar markings on the bone."

"It was the winter of 1980, also Fredericksburg. Five women, sixteen to twenty-four. Buried in pieces, same markings, same civil war battlefield."

"Killed the same time of year and left at the same dump site?"

Lucy stared hardly at the unchanged photo on the screen. Her mind working overtime at the idea of a twenty-seven year cooling-off period. How does one do that? There are definitely sexual components to the crimes, so what did he do in those twenty-seven years to satiate his hunger for murdering young women?

Lucy snapped back into the conversation at Morgan's voice. "BTK resurfaced after a twenty-five year hiatus."

Lucy cleared her throat before jumping back in to the conversation. "Yeah, but he didn't kill anyone, he just taunted the police." Spencer let a small smile grace his lips as he looked at Lucy‒she looked. . .lovely today. The jumper complimented her slightly tanned skin-tone perfectly, and the loose strands of her silvery-brown hair framed her face, making her look almost angelic.

"Garcia, check the M.O against girls missing in other states. It could explain the long absence."

"I'm on it."

Lucy voiced the repeating question that was playing on her mind. "If this is the same unsub, what has he been doing for the past twenty-seven years?" The others nodded, as if the same question had plagued their minds too. 

Lucy jumped into the large SUV—large compared to her small stature. The door slammed shut and Hotch started the vehicle, as the four of them drove towards the abduction site of Molly McCarthy.

"The killer has an obvious disregard for women. He sees them as disposable and worthless. You know, he'd need a lot of time and privacy to do this to them." Spencer spoke, breaking the silence. He held the file to his left, so Lucy could read it too, his smooth, thin hands gripping the file gently as not to crease it. Lucy sighed, picking up one of the crime scene photos from the first victim. Spencer watched as she smoothed a hand over it, almost remorseful; a single strand of her hair, that had darkened to a mousy brown in the dreary atmosphere of Fredericksburg, fell into her face, dangling softly in front of her pained face—he had to stop himself from reaching over and tucking it behind her ear himself; luckily she did it before he gave in to his thoughts, as she placed the photograph back into the file that now sat on Spencer's lap.

"Seclusion. Time. Back then, the theory was he was a seasonal worker on one of the farms."

JJ finally spoke after being quiet for the whole journey, alerting them of the approach of the dump site. Lucy felt her bones shift beneath her skin as she watched JJ slouch back in her seat—she truly was pained by this; so much so it made Lucy's head burn.

"It's funny—he always dumps the bodies in this battlefield, no matter what the risk." Spencer spoke again, looking out the window as they drove past the dump-site.

"It's a respected landmark. He's flaunting, it makes him feel important."

Lucy placed her dainty hand on the suede interior of the vehicle, tracing patterns with her finger into it absentmindedly as they drove in quiet. Spencer admired her from the other side of the car, as her frail hands smoothed over the cars soft interior.


	8. Important thoughts of a brooding man.

FREDERICKSBURG,

VIRGINIA.

The four arrived hastily, stepping out of the SUV onto a small mound of luscious green grass, Fredericksburg's own Sheriff greeting them as the sun beamed dully down onto them. Lucy thought that it must've been Fredericksburg itself that prevented the sun from shining in its full glory; the sky itself was clear, all signs of a normally sunny and warm day. Perhaps it was the permanent blanket of death that smothered the sky and stopped the bright rays from gleaming onto the residents and surroundings of Fredericksburg—it was if the town itself had denied access to complete daylight, only allowing a slither of it through, just to prove it was, in fact, mid-day. 

"Sheriff Ballantyne, Jennifer Jareau." JJ introduced herself, shaking hands with the him as he expressed his appreciation for them coming.

"I'm Aaron Hotchner, this is Agent Lucy Florence and Doctor Spencer Reid." Hotch announced, taking it upon himself to introduce the two youngest members.

"I figured if this is the same killer as before, I didn't wanna waste any time before I got your help." he reasoned as they continued walking up the dewy grass towards the crime scene.

Lucy was struggling to keep her balance—it seemed as though her trusty oxfords were no match for the sodden grass beneath her. She slipped subtly on the grass, a strong hand preventing her from falling fully. Spencer allowed himself to catch the small woman in his arms, his right hand grasping her waist as she squeezed his arm with her left hand, trying to regain her balance before turning to face the heroic Doctor, her eyes wide and face flushed with scarlet embarrassment. "Jeez, Spence I'm so sorry I know you don't like—"

"It's okay," he replied, cutting her off, before quietly adding "I-I don't mind if it's you."

Lucy stuttered and stammered, still in Spencer's arms, not noticing that the other members of the group had already reached the top of the hill. "T-Thank you, Spence." she said as softly as she could, looking adoringly at the good-natured man in front of her. She squeezed his arm once more before letting go, her body cold from the removal of Spencer's hands. The pair carried on in silence, both overthinking the sudden intimate interaction until their heads hurt. Spencer stayed slightly behind the short girl, conscious that she may fall again before they reached the top of the mound, where the the older trio were waiting for them.

"There were about 20 kids partying 100 yards that way. Molly McCarthy was taken here. We found a blanket, sweatshirt and a pair of shoes over there."

"How does someone not see or hear them?" JJ asked aggressively, looking in angry disbelief at her surroundings.

"It was dark. He had the advantage. Molly's boyfriend was the last person to see her. Said she was alone for a minute, maybe less."

"He's patient, works fast." Hotch concluded, a tight, thinking expression on his face.

"Yeah, he's perfected his M.O." Spencer added, glancing around and observing the crime scene, drinking in every detail he could.

"If the unsub is like, nearly sixty, then he's gotta be strong enough to carry them a long way, without her struggling or gaining attention." Lucy spoke, crouching down to ground level and inspecting the ground for any signs of struggle.

"I've seen a lot of properties on unmarked dirt roads with no visible street signs, nothing on any maps." Spencer said to Sheriff Ballantyne, his hands waving around as he spoke.

"Yeah, if you don't live around here, it can be hell finding your way around."

"No, our unsub's definitely local." Hotch added authoritatively, glancing at JJ as she moved away from them all.

"Can you show us the various entrances to this place?" asked Spencer, oblivious to the distressed JJ mere metres away. The Sheriff agreed, walking away with the Doctor. Lucy hesitated, unsure whether to accompany Spence or make sure JJ was okay; it was the gentle look Hotch gave her that made the decision for her, as she nodded to him and ran to Spencer, who held a hand out for her on the steep hill—he was well aware of her small build, and paired with her expertly-polished, well-worn Oxford shoes, there was only a thirty-seven percent chance of her making it up the hill without falling, and Spencer wasn't willing to take that chance.

He ignored the thrilling warmth that enveloped his left hand as she grabbed it strongly, her brows furrowed in concentration as she reached the top of the hill. Lucy's face morphed into a triumphant, girlish one as her body relaxed and she gave him a wide smile. "Thanks, Doc." she added gratefully, although a little embarrassed that she, a twenty-three year old woman, couldn't successfully climb a hill without assistance—there was a reason she considered herself more of a scholar than an an athlete. Her heart seemed to almost melt inside her chest at the smile she received from Spencer—she noticed how his eyes crinkled at the sheer largeness of the smile, his eyes gleaming brightly under her gaze.

"Well, I wasn't about to let you fall again." he teased—Spencer didn't know what it was about Lucille Florence, but she made him feel like a teenage boy, and not a Las Vegas child prodigy—the feeling was foreign to him, and he couldn't decide whether he liked it or not. 

Lucy dramatically placed her hand over her heart, pretending to fawn over him. "Oh wow, Spencer Reid, my hero." she giggled quietly at herself, even more so when she saw Spencer glaring at her. He quickly broke into a goofy grin, both of them walking hastily to catch up with the Sheriff a few yards ahead.


	9. The triumphant mystery of evading capture.

FREDERICKSBURG.

Lucy watched sadly as JJ spoke with the Sheriff; medical examiners and the local police force collecting and registering each body part they found. "He didn't spread them around this time. They were in plain sight." he observed, an agitated expression on his exhausted face.

"He's basically saying, 'I'm doing this and there's nothing you can do to stop me.'" Spencer announced, scribbling aggressively in his notebook—Lucy stood on her toes and placed her chin on his shoulder, to peer over and see what he was writing; she could feel the soft wool of his dark sweater vest, warm from the direct sunlight. Spencer smiled as he glanced at the cause of the gentle pressure on his shoulder, and moved the book closer so she could see his notes about the recent dropping of the dismembered corpse.

"Nobody can get in here without showing their I.D at the gate."

"I have a copy of the visitors list, but there's a hundred ways in. These fences back up to personal properties." JJ replied, pointing to the abundance of houses that lay closest to the drop site.

"He knows these grounds as well as anyone. He could've jumped the fence, disposed of his victims, and walked right back out." Hotch said, looking around him, almost as if he thought the unsub was there. 

"There's been another abduction." JJ announced, walking hastily and aggressively into the office, Ballantyne hot on her heels.

"Name's Tara Ricker, family called this morning. She didn't come home last night. We're still trying to locate the vehicle." the Sheriff added, equally as stressed as Agent Jareau.

"Well, we know he kills after he takes another victim, so we're running out of time here!" exclaimed JJ, leaning on one of the chairs at the large table, scattered with maps, coroner's reports and a myriad of files and papers.

"Alright, what do we know?"

"Definitely a copycat—same M.O, same dumpsite." Lucy started, followed closely by Rossi.

"Only you never released any of that to the press." he said, mainly to the ex-Sheriff Cauldfield.

"That means he had to learn it from someone—a family member, a friend maybe?" suggested Spencer, his hands waving around as they usually did when he spoke loudly.

Lucy furrowed her brows tightly, understanding Spencer's train of thought. "Didn't Mary and Robert Wilkinson have a son?"

"Are you suggesting there's a genetic predisposition to killing?" Sheriff Cauldfield asked, half in disbelief and half in wonder.

"It's one factor, along with psychology and socialisation."

"If you have a combination of genetics and a son who grew up without a father searching for his own identity, it could be a stressor." Rossi told the elderly sheriff.

"I remember Charlie Wilkinson. When he was fifteen, he killed a neighbour's cat. He put it in a bag and hit it against a tree."

Spencer frowned as Lucy grimaced at Sheriff Cauldfield's story, the hurt on her face showing that the image had already infiltrated her overactive imagination.

"How old is Charlie Wilkinson?" asked Prentiss, clearly unsettled by the statement herself.

"Mary was pregnant with him when Robert died."

"That's twenty-seven years ago, that makes him roughly the same age Robert was when he started killing." Prentiss said quickly, alarm lacing her voice.

Morgan's phone rang suddenly, the informal greeting from Derek meaning it was Garcia on the calling end. "What do you got for us, girl?"

"I just found the reason why Karen Foley was lying."

Lucy sat in the back while Derek and Spencer sat in the front; she smiled softly at the memory of her first day with the BAU. Lucy listened to the soft lull of their voices as she watched the idyllic rural scenery blur past as they made their way to Charlie Wilkinson's workplace. "Okay, I'll go in and see if he's there. You guys just stay here." Morgan commanded as he exited the SUV and the pair were thrown into silence.

Spencer tapped repetitively on the dashboard, his fingers bouncing up and down in a uniform pattern. "How do you do it?" Lucy began, causing Spencer to avert all his attention to her, "This job. This is literally the stuff out of horror movies! How the hell do you deal with it every day?"

Spencer glanced sympathetically at the girl; he could see the storm of emotions behind her sapphire orbs. He sighed heavily at her, her eyes refusing to make contact with his after her passionate outburst, as she placed her hands on her knees. "I guess. . .just remind yourself of all the lives you save. It'll help you sleep at night." Spencer hesitated slightly, before placing his hand on her own and giving her a small smile. She visibly relaxed under his soft gaze and touch, her shoulders becoming less tense as she breathed in and out, returning his smile.

Spencer removed his hand from Lucy's as the car door was effortlessly opened by Morgan, who gave the Doctor a knowing glance, making his face flush a rosy tint. "Wilkinson isn't here. Hasn't been here all day, apparently."

"I'll let JJ and Hotch know." Spencer announced, pulling out his phone to make the call and avoiding Morgan's taunting gaze.

Morgan stepped forward with JJ, approaching the front-door and knocking. A young, heavily pregnant woman answered, looking surprised at what lay outside her home. "Chrissy Wilkinson?" asked JJ.

"Can I help you?"

"Jennifer Jareau, this is Derek Morgan. We're with the FBI." she told her, nodding her head behind her at the mixture of FBI agents and the local police force.

"We're looking for Charles Wilkinson. Is he here?" asked Morgan, peering subtly inside the small house.

"Uh, he's at work."

Lucy noticed the large, wooden barn behind them—it would be the perfect place to keep women and remain unnoticed. Especially if his wife was oblivious to it. She tapped Spencer's upper-arm carefully, gaining his attention. "Spence, the barn." she whispered, loud enough for Hotch to here too. Spencer nodded at her, turning to Hotch who had already been listening.

"Let's go." Hotch commanded with a nod from Morgan. Lucy pulled out her gun carefully, pointing it towards the ground as Sheriff Ballantyne heaved the barn-door open with a slightly rusted crowbar.

They entered the barn cautiously, eyes flickering and guns wavering constantly as they moved further in, Spencer halted at a deep ebony chain dangling meticulously from the roof, it's end containing a pair of industrial cuffs. Lucy stood next to him, furrowing her brows in concern at the ominous chains.

"Over here." Hotch ordered, pointing with his gun to the blood-covered wooden block, and the dull, sharp axe standing beside it. Lucy could not help the shiver that ran involuntarily down her spine. 

"Obviously this is where he's been torturing them, but where's he been keeping them?" Emily asked, her eyes travelling around the structure of the barn.

"Somewhere isolated. He can't risk storing them close to his house." replied Morgan, as he knelt down and inspected the straw-covered ground. Lucy walked soundlessly past Rossi and Cauldfield, who seemed to be concentrated on a heated debate with Mary Wilkinson. She stepped carefully inside the house; her feet barely making a sound on the wooden floor. Lucy stepped through the doorway into what appeared to be a study of some kind, filled with maps and pictures, as well as a pair of framed weapons that glinted in the sunlight shining through the window.

"Need some help?" Lucy asked, making Reid jump in surprise at her quiet entry.

"Jeez! God, Lucy, you scared me half to death!" he exclaimed, waving around his book filled hand. Lucy flinched at the movement, looking down at her feet and mumbling an apology. "Sorry. I-I didn't mean to shout."

"No it's okay, it was my fault anyway."

Spencer placed his hand gently on her shoulder, squeezing it softly, and earning him a smile from the tired-looking girl. "Hey, Hotch. Got something." JJ called to the other end of the home. Agent Hotchner walked over hastily, taking a look at the journal JJ held in front of him. "This was all locked in the closet."

"Looks like it was Robert Wilkinson's before Charlie got his hands on it." Spencer explained, pointing to the sloppily-written name in the front of the journal he held.

"So Charlie went looking for a father figure and this is who he found." Lucy commented, her delicate face morphing into a frown.

"He was killing animals. It's clear he already had murderous impulses, and—"

"Finding this must have made him feel like it was. . .like it was his birthright."

"Listen, 'They like it when they get to share me.'"

"Is there anything in there about where he keeps them?" Hotch questioned, almost hopeful.

"Nothing yet." Spencer answered in the negative as he continued reading.

"Okay, just carry on."

Hotch exited the room hastily; Lucy could see him walk towards the barn from the room's window—those poor girls must be terrified, wherever they are. She was snatched from her thoughts by a faded red journal filling her vision, held by Spencer who still hadn't looked up from the navy blue one he was reading. Lucy took it gently from his hands, opening it at the first page and throwing herself into the thoughts and memories of a murderer.

**Author's Note:**

> DANGERS!
> 
> TO WARN YOU, this book will include gore, murder, rape, sexual themes, profanities and kidnapping so read with caution please!
> 
> DISCLAIMERS!
> 
> I DO NOT OWN any of the criminal minds cast or episode storylines, but i do own lucille florence, her storyline and this book!


End file.
